At ebb tide,
From Peterhead to Thanet,
Down at Dover, Southampton,
All along the south coast as far as Lands End,
Huge men with even huger axes
Are slicing through the ropes that hold
Albion to the Continent.
A terrible wrenching is heard.
The ground trembles.
Caught by the tide,
With no one at the tiller,
The island begins to drift
Into oblivion.
Meanwhile, on the lower decks,
The crew are busy
Cutting each other’s throats.
November 26 2017
BANAL FIXATION
Our lives are composed of a chain of banalities – W. Herzog
In his banal bed
Werner wakes
From a banal dream
With a banal erection
Listens for a moment to the banal sounds of spring
Outside
Swings his banal legs onto the banal floor
Slides his banal feet into his banal slippers
Shuffles to the banal bathroom
In his banal shot silk kimono
For a banal piss
Thence to the banal kitchen
Where he selects his banal breakfast
As he grinds his banal Kenyan coffee beans
In his banal Bosch coffee grinder
Banal cheese?
Banal salami?
Banal prosciutto?
No!
Banal muesli!
Into which he slices an utterly banal banana
Then, banally munching
He looks from his banal terrace
At the banal dawn
Transparent strands of banal magenta
Streak the azure-banal sky
He registers the subtly banal scents of early morning
And the banal promise of another banal day
Then a banal thought occurs to him:
His life is composed of a chain of banalities
Alas! Poor Werner!
November 26 2017
CRUEL BRITANNIA
»Magna Carta itself being a beggarly thing, containing many marks of intolerable bondage« – att. John Lilburne Remonstrances
Britannia, O Britannia
Spectred isle
When will you exorcise the ghosts
In which you glory?
The ghosts that haunt your descent?
Britannia, O Britannia
Your empire has shrunk to a postage stamp
Concentration camp
Guarded by special relations
Britannia, O Britannia
You had everything
But you blew it on Cortinas
And the Costa del Sol
Britannia, O Britannia
So kind to dogs and horses
Why are your children
Among the saddest in Europe?
Britannia, O Britannia
Where everything comes out clean
Do you flush the filth
From your laundry into the Irish Sea?
Britannia, O Britannia
Land of patios portable gazebos and personalised porches
Land of big balls on little wheels
Land of Channel hoppers
And informed shoppers
Land of the stiff upper lip
And itchy trigger finger
If someone gives you head
Do you lose yours?
Britannia, O Britannia
When will you pull your socks up?
When will you put your thinking cap on?
Can you find your thinking cap?
When will you play up and play the game
Instead of rigging it and frigging in the rigging?
When will you stop pissing about
Above your pay grade?
Britannia, O Britannia
I want to put you over my knee
And give you a good spanking
But I’m against corporal punishment
Even for the likes of you
Even if you want me to
Britannia, O Britannia
Your teeth are rotten
And your beaches are crumbling
Britannia, O Britannia
When will you unpack my head?
It’s still full of your preening mirrors
Britannia, O Britannia
How can I rid myself of you?
You were never there
Britannia, O Britannia
History is justice
History is law
And you will not be
Making it anymore
At ebb tide,
From Peterhead to Thanet,
Down at Dover, Southampton,
All along the south coast as far as Lands End,
Huge men with even huger axes
Are slicing through the ropes that hold
Albion to the Continent.
A terrible wrenching is heard.
The ground trembles.
Caught by the tide,
With no one at the tiller,
The island begins to drift
Into oblivion.
Meanwhile, on the lower decks,
The crew are busy
Cutting each other’s throats.
November 26 2017
BANAL FIXATION
Our lives are composed of a chain of banalities – W. Herzog
In his banal bed
Werner wakes
From a banal dream
With a banal erection
Listens for a moment to the banal sounds of spring
Outside
Swings his banal legs onto the banal floor
Slides his banal feet into his banal slippers
Shuffles to the banal bathroom
In his banal shot silk kimono
For a banal piss
Thence to the banal kitchen
Where he selects his banal breakfast
As he grinds his banal Kenyan coffee beans
In his banal Bosch coffee grinder
Banal cheese?
Banal salami?
Banal prosciutto?
No!
Banal muesli!
Into which he slices an utterly banal banana
Then, banally munching
He looks from his banal terrace
At the banal dawn
Transparent strands of banal magenta
Streak the azure-banal sky
He registers the subtly banal scents of early morning
And the banal promise of another banal day
Then a banal thought occurs to him:
His life is composed of a chain of banalities
Alas! Poor Werner!
November 26 2017
CRUEL BRITANNIA
»Magna Carta itself being a beggarly thing, containing many marks of intolerable bondage« – att. John Lilburne Remonstrances
Britannia, O Britannia
Spectred isle
When will you exorcise the ghosts
In which you glory?
The ghosts that haunt your descent?
Britannia, O Britannia
Your empire has shrunk to a postage stamp
Concentration camp
Guarded by special relations
Britannia, O Britannia
You had everything
But you blew it on Cortinas
And the Costa del Sol
Britannia, O Britannia
So kind to dogs and horses
Why are your children
Among the saddest in Europe?
Britannia, O Britannia
Where everything comes out clean
Do you flush the filth
From your laundry into the Irish Sea?
Britannia, O Britannia
Land of patios portable gazebos and personalised porches
Land of big balls on little wheels
Land of Channel hoppers
And informed shoppers
Land of the stiff upper lip
And itchy trigger finger
If someone gives you head
Do you lose yours?
Britannia, O Britannia
When will you pull your socks up?
When will you put your thinking cap on?
Can you find your thinking cap?
When will you play up and play the game
Instead of rigging it and frigging in the rigging?
When will you stop pissing about
Above your pay grade?
Britannia, O Britannia
I want to put you over my knee
And give you a good spanking
But I’m against corporal punishment
Even for the likes of you
Even if you want me to
Britannia, O Britannia
Your teeth are rotten
And your beaches are crumbling
Britannia, O Britannia
When will you unpack my head?
It’s still full of your preening mirrors
Britannia, O Britannia
How can I rid myself of you?
You were never there
Britannia, O Britannia
History is justice
History is law
And you will not be
Making it anymore
